Fate is Kind
by dudeurfugly
Summary: After an online dating disaster, Archie is feeling more than a little down in the dumps. Emma steps in to give him some hope. Archie/Emma friendship.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I promise. **

**A/N: Written for a friend. Thought I'd post it here, too. Enjoy, and let me know what you think! Also, shameless plug: please check out my OUaT WWII AU, entitled, "Keep Your Eyes Open"!**

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Archie felt out of place. He stepped into the bar at exactly ten minutes to eight, and found himself in unfamiliar territory. He was early, for it was always a courtesy to be earlier rather than running late. Clad in a neatly ironed sage green button down shirt and dark green tie with a pair of khakis, Archie felt he was dressed in appropriate attire for a date. He was used to business professional, all sweater vests and tweed jackets and the like. It had been some time since he'd had to think about casual ware or the proper protocols for a date night. He had to admit beneath the nervousness, he was excited at the prospect of meeting someone new. It could lead to anything at all.

He'd never been one for blind dates, but for this woman he made an exception. They had talked for quite awhile over email and chat on the online dating site he reluctantly signed himself up for after a particularly boring and lonely Sunday afternoon. Next thing he knew, their talks turned to the idea of meeting up for drinks, and now Archie was here, ready to see her face-to-face for the very first time. Archie had no idea what she looked like—it didn't matter much to him; he found her personality to be quite endearing—but she had told him she would be wearing a bright purple dress and he wouldn't be able to miss her.

Wading through the crowd while his ears adjusted to the thudding bass through speakers mingled with loud chatter and clinking glasses, Archie slid into a vacant table. The table was adorned with a patterned cloth and a flickering candle at its center. Archie relaxed into the back of the chair and checked his wristwatch. Five to eight. He had five minutes to collect himself. He was currently fighting against the urge to bolt out the door. Atmospheres like this—music loud enough to make his ears ring afterward, headache-inducing conversations overlapping one another, and too many people everywhere—made him uncomfortable. He was out of his element already.

Eight o'clock arrived, whether Archie wanted it to or not. His eyes traveled to the door and watched, waiting for a sign of this mysterious, alluring woman he had made plans with. Groups of people waltzed through, but not one wore bright purple. He began to wonder if she had got here early as well and he hadn't seen her, somehow. Archie's eyes wove through the crowd; he craned his neck and looked at the tables behind him, but saw no one who could be her. Five past eight. Ten past. Still nothing. Quarter after, and Archie was beginning to worry. The empty chair across from him left a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Eight-thirty came and went, and Archie lost hope. He sighed and loosened the knot in his tie, feeling defeated. A half hour late was not late. It meant more than that.

It meant she wasn't coming.

This seemingly beautiful, kindhearted woman he had met had stood him up. Archie Hopper decided he had learned his lesson—not to trust the people he let into his life, let effect his emotions and his heart, over the internet. It was bad enough for him to try and meet women in everyday situations, but for him to be completely rejected after this was, he felt, pathetic. Perhaps she _had_ showed up. Archie pictured her finding him in the crowd, taking one look, and backtracking for the door.

"Stupid," Archie muttered to himself. "I'm an idiot."

Archie realized this was why he was always avoiding his love life. The rejection. The pain. The loneliness he found himself at constant war with. It was all-consuming and exhausting. And useless. He wanted no part in it anymore.

He lifted himself out of the chair. The excitement he'd felt before was now non-existent. His shoulders slumped, his whole body was weighed down with the crushing defeat that had knocked him in the chest every time he took a fateful glance at his watch. There was nothing else left to do with this night except wander over to the bar and get mind-numbingly drunk.

And that's exactly what he did. He planted himself on a barstool and removed his watch, stuffing it into his pocket. He no longer cared to know the time. Archie ordered drink after drink, half the time unaware of what kind of alcohol he consumed. It burned the back of his throat and spread warmth through his body, and that's all that mattered.

It made him feel weightless yet took away his ability to feel anything of importance. No pain. No emotion. No loneliness gnawing at his mind. He wanted it that way. He wanted to forget. By the time he figured he'd had enough—his head was spinning and light as a feather—Archie paid his tab with unsteady fingers and stumbled quite literally out of the bar. He couldn't remember the last occasion he had been this drunk, unable to see straight much less walk without tripping over his own feet.

Somewhere on his trek down the street, Archie realized he wouldn't be able to get home this way. Part of him—the part that was still hyped up on warm, wonderful fuzzy feelings from the amount of booze coursing through his system—thought the curb of the street would be a good enough place to stop for the night. He eased himself onto the corner with some difficulty, nearly falling face-first onto the pavement. Once seated with his knees drawn up, Archie rested his elbows on his kneecaps and stared up at the sky.

It was a clear night, with a light wind that carried a welcoming coolness against Archie's sweat-dampened skin. From his perch on the curb, the sky was alight with stars. He never considered himself a dreamer, a stargazer, but in his current mental state there was something very thought-provoking about the sight.

"Archie?"

He'd been so engrossed in the nighttime landscape he'd barely noticed Sheriff Swan's car pull up in front of him. She was looking at him with an expression of such bewilderment that for a moment he couldn't understand why. And then he remembered he was sitting on the curb with his shirt halfway un-tucked and his tie hanging limply from his neck, stargazing.

"Archie," Emma called again. "What are you doing out here? It's almost one-thirty in the morning—what happened? Are you all right?"

It took his brain quite awhile to process her words. His own response came out lazy, letters blurring together in a mess that accurately reflected his own outward appearance.

"I…" he hesitated. He really wasn't at all sure. His head was swimming and he wanted to laugh and maybe cry at the same time. "I don't know."

"Okay," Emma replied slowly, "Well, why don't you get in? I'll take you home."

With great effort and more than a little struggling, Archie hoisted himself off the curb and navigated around the hood of Emma's yellow Bug. Emma leaned over and opened the passenger side door for him, waiting patiently for the psychiatrist to climb in. He slammed the door closed and sunk into the seat, unaware that Emma was studying him with concern. She could smell the pungent aroma of alcohol from him and was genuinely worried. Archie didn't strike her as a person to get drunk like this.

Once they were on the road, Emma kept glancing at him. She decided it was better not to ask. If he wanted to tell her something, he would, or at least she hoped. She was thankful nothing had happened to him; at first, she thought he had been mugged. Now, it just seemed he was having a bit of a rough night, from the way he continued to rake his fingers through his hair and dig the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"All right," Emma announced when they pulled up in front of Archie's apartment building, "Let me help you inside. Don't need you falling and hurting yourself on my watch." She smiled.

Archie thought it was too much work for his befuddled mind to protest. "Thank you, Emma."

They took the elevator up to his apartment, Emma's hand planted on the small of his back to keep him upright. She unlocked the door after Archie insisted on doing it himself and subsequently failing to get the key into the lock several times. Once inside, Pongo greeted them at the threshold and barked, pawing at Archie's legs. Archie wavered in his steps across the living room and all but fell into an armchair. Emma felt somewhat awkward standing in the doorway; a feeling that only proved to be worse as Archie buried his face in his hands and stayed like that.

There was no way Emma could leave now. Not when he seemed so off, so unlike himself and obviously in a lot of inner turmoil. She shut the door and slid onto the couch across from the distraught psychiatrist. Pongo lingered at Archie's feet and let out a low whine. He, too, knew something was up.

"Hey, Archie," Emma said gently, "You know…if something's bothering you, I'm more than willing to listen." He didn't say a word, didn't look up to meet her concerned gaze. "You want to tell me what happened?"

Silence filled the room. Minutes passed, stretching into nearly twenty. "I was stood up."

Emma cringed. "Anyone who stands you up isn't worth it."

"You're just saying that," Archie answered. He lifted his face from his palms at last, and Emma saw his complexion was tinged with red, like he was trying too hard to contain his emotions. "I know rejection. This isn't the first time I've felt it. I thought I'd gotten used to how things were in my life, but maybe I'm not meant to be happy."

"Everyone deserves happiness, Archie," Emma stated. "I couldn't think of one reason why you'd be an exception to that."

She sighed. Clearly, Archie had been so focused on solving others' problems that he had neglected to take care of his own. When was the last time he had confided in anyone? Even the town's resident voice of reason needed someone to help guide him, too.

Archie groaned and removed his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before snaking his hand through his hair again. His tone was unusually sharp, laced with emotion, like he was on the verge of breaking.

"Look at me, Emma," Archie told her, his voice finally breaking, "I'm not the kind of man who saves the day and gets the girl. I'll never be anyone's first choice—I never was. All I have is my work. Don't get me wrong, I love helping people, but at the end of the day, coming home to an empty apartment isn't something I look forward to. And I thought I was okay with the loneliness, but I can't do it anymore. It's—It's a miserable way to live."

He sighed. "I just want to come home and having someone waiting, you know? I want that more than anything. To mean something, honest and true, to someone. To make everything worth it. To be _loved_." Archie shook his head, and Emma noticed him blinking away a few unshed tears. "I'm—I'm sorry, Emma, I didn't mean to drop all of this on you."

"It's okay," she replied. "Really. I don't even know how you do it, listening to people day in and day out and never taking the time to tell someone how _you_ feel. And the last thing I'm going to do is sit here and give you some speech about how there are other fish in the sea."

Emma had the faintest traces of a smirk on her lips. "But," she drawled, "What I will tell you this: nothing is ever easy, least of all finding the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. I sure as hell haven't found that person yet. Don't write yourself off, Archie. Sure, _you_ may not think you're Prince Charming, but to someone, you _will_ be."

"You really think so?"

"Everyone deserves love as much as they deserve happiness," Emma repeated. "You'll make some beautiful woman very lucky to have you. It'll happen. You just have to be confidence in yourself, Archie. You'll find someone who's worth your time and love. Someone's out there waiting for you, too."

And for the first time that night, Archie smiled.


End file.
